


we all burn out eventually

by Ori_kun



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambitious But Rubbish, Candles, I don’t regret this, I just really like candles, I wanna know if I’m the only one, I’m not helping my case I know, POV Second Person, Reader Insert, Relax and enjoy the show, Synesthesia, Temptation, This Is Not A Kink, Wax, a little less sixteen candles a little more touch me, and I’m feeling this aesthetic, but I’ll take manky, but actually please do @ me, candles are nice, dont make me explain myself, don’t @ me, i just really really like candles, i meant manly, it was 2am, manky, no beta we die like men, notreally but I wanna trick A03, original - Freeform, second person immersion, self indulgent, thats unrelated but I love FOB, this is not a fetish, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ori_kun/pseuds/Ori_kun
Summary: A little second person pov fic about candles.





	we all burn out eventually

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse my Drabble it was 2am and I just really like candles.

There’s something about the sharp permeating presence of a candle. The flicker of the flame casting a curious wink to the ends of the walls. It smells like yellow. But not the bright kind, the dusty muted soft and deep yellow. The yellow that makes you taste honey dripping down the back of your throat and feel the intricate texture of unfinished wood. It feels like contentment.

With the strike of a match, the sound of construction boots kicking against gravel, an explosion of heat escapes and traps itself on the tip of the tiny sliver of wood. The closeness of your finger tips brings a rush of adrenaline through your veins, the possibility of getting burned before you successfully light the wick. And it’s maddening and it’s mystifying, the way that something so threatening and hot, something with the potential to harm, can be extinguished by one single breath. Remnants of burning wood become intruders to your senses. But you don’t mind. In fact. When you’re alone you take in a deep breath and savor the tantalizing flavor of Smoke and fire and wood. You taste it. You see it. You hear it. In the form of explosive orange and warm blues and strikingly soft greys. 

Your eyes are soon drawn to the star of the show, the 3 inch by 4 inch cylindrical wax statue, a hot crater of melted wax developing close to the flame. Your brain taunts you and teases you to feel it. To taste it. To indulge yourself in a forbidden desire. But you restrain yourself knowing all too well your tongue was not meant to enjoy this simple pleasure. However you allow just your fingertips to dance along the edge of the flame, threatening to travel further, to test this silent threat.

Slowly and then all at once your fingertips become ablaze with hard red heat. But you don’t struggle. You don’t cry. You simply draw your eye closer and watch as the hot wax hardens once more, creating a shell, much like the kind you find yourself hiding behind.

And just as easily as it coated your finger up to your cuticles, it fell off. Leaving nothing but a small oily trail coating your skin and allowing an idea of what soft newborn skin might feel like.

By tomorrow the feeling will be gone.

But for now you indulge. You imagine your body coated in the smooth milky wax, allowing it to entrap you only to be peeled away just as quickly, leaving you one hand with your empty shell and the other holding up a new you. A softer sweeter smoother pinker you.

Until tomorrow.

When your callouses return and the scars that are peppered across your thighs once again make their debut. But for now you pretend they never will.

And as the pool of smooth translucence rises steadily against the softening edges, dampening the wick, extinguishing itself with the same raw hunger that it burned with.

Gentle and smooth, all that remains curls into the air we breath. Inhaling the abandoned fragments of a short lived flame,

we all burn out                          eventually.


End file.
